The Devil's Anvil (30 page)

I went up the stairs as if I had a right to be there. The number of personnel in such a large building, I doubted everyone was totally familiar with everyone else, and I wouldn’t immediately be challenged. I hoped that I could find someone who wasn’t on the direct payroll of either Procrylon or the private military company who’d give up information regarding Billie without my having to resort to threats or direct action, but maybe that was too much to ask. At the top I came to a set of double swing doors. Porthole-style windows allowed a view into another corridor, which was deserted. I went on through and padded down the hall, watching for signs on the walls for a hint of where to go. The rooms had numbered designations, but that was all. All were silent as I passed. Reaching another set of double doors I paused. From beyond them came the muted tones of conversation.

Taking a quick glance through a door window I spotted two figures standing outside a room, to which the door was standing open. Both wore the familiar green PMC uniform and had sidearms on their hips. One was a black man, the other an Asian. I didn’t recognise either from my pursuers in the woods, but a third man exited the room and joined them and he was vaguely familiar. When the Jaegers had first arrived at Billie’s farm they’d come with two helpers. One of those was now dead, but there was the last of the bunch. I knew him only from his shape and mannerisms as I’d never got a clean look at him through the mist that time as he closed in on the farm. Of anyone I’d seen up until now, this man offered most hope for a direct line to Billie. Hell, for all I knew, she could be in the very room he’d just come from. So could another dozen armed soldiers, but I couldn’t allow what-ifs to slow me. Pulling the spare gun from my belt for extra effect, I immediately pushed through the door, a gun in each hand as I stalked forward.

‘Nobody move,’ I warned.

Of course my words had the opposite effect. The black man whose back had been presented to me turned at my voice, and the Asian also snapped his head round. Only the third man faced me head on and I watched him sway from side to side as his mind screamed for positive action while also cautioning against it. My boldness had thrown them off, and I was glad to see none of them reached for a weapon. I halted ten feet from them, and kept the guns levelled on the nearest men’s chests. ‘Dump your belts and kick them away from you. Quick about it.’

Three men against two guns. The PMCs shared little glances and nods. I could tell they were doing the maths. Anyone with sense would realise each of my guns held more than one bullet, and I was obviously the type with the balls to shoot as many times as necessary. Maybe they’d given their good sense the night off, because through some unspoken communication they all came to agreement. The idiots went for their guns.

My silenced handgun went off, the black man fell with a round through his throat and I adjusted my aim within a split second. The Asian didn’t immediately go down, but he did stagger to one side, his hands going to the wound in his belly. I shot him again, and this time he did fall. By then the third man had cleared his holster and was lifting his sidearm. I aimed through the gap caused by his fallen comrades, but this time didn’t go for a fatal target. My bullet passed through his wrist and splintered the door frame behind him. The man yelped in agony, collapsing to his knees as he grabbed at his injured arm. I moved in fast, checking both his comrades were out of the game, and kicked him over on to his back, even as I covered the doorway lest anyone should seek to join the fight. No one did, and there was no shout of alarm, so I quickly pushed away my spare gun in my belt and reached to take away the PMC’s gun that hung precariously out of the holster. I tucked it into the small of my back too.

Two men were dead and another injured, and the most noise made was by the latter when he’d cried in agony. I didn’t hear a corresponding shout of alarm, and the room he’d exited was still and silent. I doubted Billie was in there, but I had to check.

The injured man hugged his wounded wrist to his chest, glaring up at me from his prone position, and I gave him something to concentrate on. I aimed the suppressed muzzle of my gun directly at his face as I leaned in quickly and checked the room. It was a typical conference suite, with a large oblong table surrounded by chairs dominating the space. A couple other tables against one wall, an old-fashioned overhead projector and a water cooler completed the look. There was no sign of Billie, or anything to suggest she’d ever been there. I took it the trio had made an impromptu drinks stop at the water cooler during their rounds.

‘Where’s Billie Womack?’ Hell, I was beginning to sound like a stuck record.

‘I saw you die,’ the man said.

‘Obviously you didn’t,’ I said, and proved I was no ghost by placing the suppressor to his forehead. ‘But you were there in the forest, sure enough. You know who I’m talking about; you were one of the bastards who took Billie. You also know exactly where she is now. Tell me.’

‘You’ll shoot me as soon as I tell you.’

‘Maybe. But I’ll shoot right now if you don’t.’

‘You’d murder an injured man?’

‘In an instant,’ I told him. But truth be told, I wouldn’t. I’d resolved to take the fight to my enemies, though only where they were combatants and fair game. It was one thing shooting men with the same intention as I had, quite another an unarmed guy lying injured on the floor. But letting the man know that would be a huge mistake. Better that he believed I was a cold-blooded assassin. I dug the suppressor into the skin of his forehead. ‘Do I need to give you a countdown?’

He’d screwed his eyelids tight, grimacing in pain. When he again looked up at me his gaze was pointed, resigned to his death. ‘Quit the dramatics, will you? If you’re going to shoot, shoot.’

‘You’re doing yourself no favours.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Have it your way.’ I didn’t shoot. I grabbed his injured wrist and inserted my thumb in the bullet wound. Grinding my thumb into the splintered bones, I watched the guy change his mind about defying me. He bit down on his lips to stop from crying out, which was sensible of him. ‘Ready to speak yet?’

‘I . . . I’m ready.’

I withdrew my thumb. ‘The question hasn’t changed: where’s Billie Womack?’

‘She’s not in this building.’

‘I don’t want to know where she isn’t. C’mon. Spill.’

He jerked his head, and I thought it was to escape the gun, but it was actually a nod of direction. ‘There’s a sky bridge adjoining the next building across. You need to go that way. Billie’s being held there.’

‘Who has her? The Jaegers?’

He appeared surprised that I knew the names.

‘The Jaegers, and then some.’

‘How many?’

‘Twenty, thirty, maybe more. I couldn’t say. Maybe you’d best get yourself over there and find out.’ He offered a sly smile that told me he didn’t fancy my chances.

‘You wouldn’t be sending me on a wild goose chase . . .’

‘Why would I? You’re gonna kill me. If you decide not to be a punk-ass and let me live, well, whatever. I’m not going to be able to show my face around here anymore. Not if the Jaegers learn I sent you after them.’

‘Trust me, I won’t be wasting time carrying tales to them.’

He nodded. Professional gratitude.

‘By the way, I’m no punk-ass.’ I gave him the respect he was due. I kicked him hard in the head and sent him to sleep. By the time he woke up it wouldn’t matter if he raised the alarm. And if he chose to join the fight, then so be it. Next time he would be fairer game.

Giving him no further thought, I headed past the conference room and found another short corridor. A set of double doors opened on to the promised skywalk. It was glassed in on three sides, though the windows and roof were semi-opaque with dirt and bird droppings, and underfoot the floor shuddered minutely with each step and made a thrumming noise. I didn’t slow down, just kept going. The sound would be a feature to anyone familiar with the building. Reaching the far end I again paused at a set of double doors with porthole windows, and spied out what I was up against. I couldn’t see a soul, but from somewhere below me voices rang out, and suddenly there was a new buzz of expectancy in the air. Doors banged, and there followed running footsteps, and more raised commands. I’d no idea how the news had got out, but they knew I was there. I pressed open the doors and entered the second building, looking immediately for passage down. Before I found a stairwell, I halted in my tracks.

In the distance a woman howled.

It was more a scream of rage than of fear.

It was followed instantly by a bleat of pain, and I threw all caution aside and plunged for the stairs down.

33

Billie went for Amanda Sheehan’s eyes with the only weapons available to her: the nails of her left hand.

Her opportunity came after Danny left the room, stony-faced after hearing Amanda’s proclamation about his future should he mess up again. Amanda had ignored him as he walked stiffly by; she’d said her piece and felt no need to reiterate it. Erick watched his brother go, and in those few seconds of inattentiveness Billie realised that she was neither being watched nor held. Her right hand was useless to her, twitching and shaking, and numb. She seethed like a kettle reaching boiling point, both at what had been done to her, and what was to come. She erupted out of her seat without warning, ducked past Erick who – apart from a narrowing of his eyelids – didn’t react in time to stop her, and screeched a wild war cry as she went for the face of her tormentor. Amanda had been in the process of pulling out a cell phone, her attention on the screen, and it took her a second or two to understand she was the target of Billie’s rage, and to react. The trouble for her was her reaction was wrong: instead of taking the fight to Billie, she attempted to escape backwards, and her heels caught on the threadbare carpet and she staggered against a wall. Billie was on her, and she clamped her nails on Amanda’s bony face, her fingers curling over the dome of Amanda’s forehead, while her thumb dug deep into her eye socket. Amanda cried shrilly, while Billie’s scream rose and fell in pitch as she tore at the face of her enemy. Billie crashed up against her and both women went to the floor in an untidy heap, with Billie on top and never relinquishing her hold. In desperation, all Amanda could do was try to strike out at Billie’s head, using the edge of her cell phone, without any conscious intention of doing so. Billie was beyond immediate pain, and she even tangled her broken fingers in Amanda’s previously coiffed hair and twisted it into a tangle. She screamed and snarled like something wild, and then sank her teeth into Amanda’s opposite cheek.

Seconds had passed, ample time for Erick to assist his boss, but he took his time walking over. He grasped Billie’s hair and made a fist of his own, then reared back, and flung her on to her backside on the floor. Blood ran from Billie’s lips, but it wasn’t her own. She sat there, staring with volcanic heat in her gaze, as Amanda crawled to her knees, her hands going to the wounds on both sides of her face. Fearing that her looks had been permanently ruined, her stern, smug, sadistic traits of earlier were replaced by those of a vain woman. She cried into her hands, then dabbed at the wounds with her fingertips, and when she saw the glistening blood it didn’t help. She fell over on to her right hip, then backed up to the wall. Surprisingly her accusations weren’t immediately directed at Billie. ‘You allowed her to attack me!’ Amanda shrieked at Erick, her right eye screwed tight.

‘Sorry, ma’am, she surprised us all.’

‘You could have stopped her!’

‘I did. Trust me, if I hadn’t pulled her off you when I did your injuries wouldn’t be as superficial.’

‘Superficial? She’s almost torn my eye out!’ Amanda turned her ire on Billie. ‘You bitch! I’ll have you killed for that.’

Billie hadn’t moved from where she’d landed on her backside. She smiled viciously. ‘You were going to have me killed any way. What more can you do to me now?’

‘You were going to be offered a clean bullet. Now I’m going to have you beaten to death. Slowly. Erick . . .’

Erick didn’t move.

Billie laughed at the woman’s pathetic threat. ‘I bet you wouldn’t try it yourself. Touch me and I’ll finish ripping your face off, you whore.’

Amanda struggled to stand, to regain some vestige of dignity. It was difficult while blinking wildly, half blinded by blood and tears. Erick offered a steadying hand, but she slapped it away angrily, reaching instead for her dropped cell phone. She was horrified when she realised that her call had gone through and there was an open line, through which her superiors were listening. Her face an open book of dismay, she hit the end call button. She must contact her bosses with an update, to reassure them that everything was under control, but not in that room while Billie laughed as if she’d just heard the best joke ever.